Rose Gold
by Mister Melancholy
Summary: A collection of short oneshots centered around Remy Buxaplenty and Timmy Turner. 3: It's Valentine's Day, but Timmy's boyfriend is getting on his nerves... Remy/Timmy
1. Touch of Pink

**Touch of Pink**

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Having an incredibly boyish perspective of the world as a ten-year old restricted Remy from ever appreciating the color he oftentimes referred to as a "cootie color".

Even the sole mention of that treacherous, one-syllable word was able to rile him up in a bout of rage, or maybe it was disguised fear—he was never too sure at that time. All he knew was that he hated it, and he hated it a lot, and this irrational hatred of that color was what initially made him dislike _that boy_.

That "boy" was the epitome of many of the things Remy hated. He had abnormally large teeth that looked like a beaver's (which is an animal Remy had rather dreadful memories for), big blue innocent eyes (Remy had always wanted blue eyes, not _green_!), and a seemingly weird addiction to the cootie color. Pink pink pink!—the mundane boy's outfits consisted of that hideous color and that hideous color only, and it made Remy cringe. Not just because it was a color he hated, but because a _boy_ was wearing it. A boy couldn't wear that color; it was like a stab to his back; it was like the boy was a traitor to boys everywhere just by wearing that.

Remy hated it, and he hated pink, and he hated him.

As a sort of subtle punishment, he tried to torture the boy by being irritatingly better at everything the brunette did. And for a while, Remy felt a little puddle of satisfaction bubbling in his heart every time he saw a little tear darken the pink of the boy's shirt. Though, soon enough, maturity started to play with his mind and he found that he was oddly tame of the color. Maybe, in some twisted way, he even thought of the prospect of _liking_ it.

It started off as a simple little change: his red bowtie being a noticeable shade lighter, a shade less…manly. He thought of this change as a symbol of the calming down of his perturbed and petulant personality from adolescence, though Juandissimo insisted it had a deeper meaning Remy wasn't aware of yet. Then it ebbed into more and more convoluted changes, like a makeover of his room so that it in included little splashes of pink and forcing his fairy godparent to start wearing a little bit of pink too. The addiction was ridiculous and irrational, and at the time, just like his past hatred, he couldn't understand it. It was too difficult to compr—

"Hey, Remy?"

Said blonde slowly drifted out of his reverie and blinked a couple of times, finding Timmy looking at him with a single raised eyebrow and a sort of humorous smirk. "You were staring at that flower for a _pretty_ long time."

Remy looked at the flower Timmy was pointing at, a little lonely flower in the middle of weeds. He smiled softly and looked at the other boy. "Oh, I was just thinking about something…"

Timmy raised his eyebrow just a smidge higher, doubt crossing his face. "Uh, like what? It isn't some evil scheme again, is it?"

"Huh? The thought hasn't even crossed my mind," he responded nonchalantly, walking up to the flower. Bending down, he plucked it from the ground, whispering an apology for hurting it (and faintly wondering why he was talking to an inanimate object so fondly) and walked back to Timmy. The suspicions on the brunette's face died down and was quickly replaced with an amused look.

"Remy, picking a flower? Heh, what a sight." He snickered, and Remy gave a little laugh too.

"Yes, yes, laugh all you want, Turner." Remy looked at the flower cradled in his hands, then swiftly put it in Timmy's hair, eliciting a surprised noise from the brunette. "Hm, what a sight," he said mockingly as a flustered Timmy hurriedly picked it out of his hair and threw it on the pavement.

"Ugh, that was mean," Timmy said, his blush not fading. Remy felt his own cheeks warming up at Timmy's embarrassment, finding that maybe there was a reason he liked pink a little bit more than the average girl; but for now, he pushed the passive thought into the back of his mind for later musings and relished the sight of his favorite shade of pink: Timmy Turner.

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(Yes, Timmy Turner is a color.)

Trying to get back into writing, and I am extremely rusty. Though, this _is_ something; and honestly, I only wrote this so I could have the first Remy story on here that's actually labeled as having Remy as a character. I'm proud to say I requested him and am equally proud to say that I've finally written a story for him!


	2. Torque

**Torque**

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Watching his father completely obsess over Dinkelburg was a common occurrence in his life, but ever since the incident of finding out how absolutely "evil" Mr. Dinkelburg really was (er, it was really for Dad's own sanity that he still perceive their neighbor as a villain when really, the big-nosed neighbor was too affable and charitable to be deemed of any treachery) his Dad's accusations of the "true countenance" of their neighbors have become insanely and irrationally (and annoyingly) frequent. First it was the little old lady who's been living in the same little old house for the last two decades—and, according to Dad, is apparently planning on taking over the world with her army of cats; and then eventually it was the family just a few houses down with Christmas decorations all year-round who were apparently a group of blood-sucking vampires pretending to be elves; oh, and he would never forget the mundane family across the street who were clandestine supervillains out to destroy the entirety of Dimmsdale, their first target being the Turners.

Unfortunately, everything was spurned by a simple greeting and his dad's stupidity. His parents' lack of friends was justified in that sense…

Nonetheless, the young brown-haired boy almost _always_ tried his best to ignore his Dad's silly trivialities, but more often than naught, he was almost _always _dragged along in a mission to uncover the "truth". Naturally, he wouldn't have minded too much. He did get to spend some quality time with his dad, which was too much of an uncommon event that he couldn't help but make the best of the situation. However, he didn't exactly enjoy having to dress up, especially having to cross-dress as a girl scout and infiltrate one's home, towing cookies with micro cameras baked inside whilst faking an unbearable "girl voice" all the while. Of course, that was the disguise that was most used—and, sad to say, the most successful—so that was what his Dad suggested he wear for most missions.

It was good that the costume was so convincing, though, or else Timmy wouldn't have an ounce of dignity left. Even then, donning the itchy wig and the frilly dress that made his bare legs shiver uncontrollably (even in the summer heat) wasn't very appealing and sometimes made him want to hide under his blankets for the rest of eternity. It was only by sheer luck that his friends… or, well, anyone from school that mattered… didn't live in his neighborhood. He could then safely assume his crucial roles in his Dad's undercover missions without any worry, happily laughing alongside his Dad whenever his _ingenious_ plan somehow failed.

Timmy snickered at his muse as he grabbed the blonde wig from his drawer. _Let's see what my dad has in store for today._

**. . .**

Upon walking downstairs, he was witness to his dad clad in an unbelievably posh black suit, his dark hair slicked back and shinier than Chip Skylark's teeth, and a monocle resting in front of his left eye. His mom was dressed in a similar fashion, with a strapless red dress that swept against the floor elegantly, her light brown hair curled into loose ringlets, and a penciled mole next to her heavily lipstick-applied lips. Timmy couldn't help but just gape at the scene before him, wondering how his idiotic parents were able to look sophisticated with just a few minor alterations to their appearance (though, he did seem to convince people he was a girl with just a too-small wig and a squeaky ambiguous voice).

Finally, after he snapped out of his short trance, he said slowly, "Mom… Dad… what happened?"

"Oh, Timmy," his mom replied ecstatically, clinging to Dad. "We've been invited to the ball just a few blocks away! Isn't that exciting?" she gushed happily, her eyes sparkling with a look that practically shouted scary socialite mode.

Timmy sighed and despondently looked to the ground. "Uh, I guess I'm not coming then, huh?"

His dad hugged Mom gently with a single arm and laughed heartily, grabbing a toy pipe from his back pockets and blowing into it like a child. "Of course you are, son! You're our ticket into getting in, after all!"

The boy wasn't sure whether he should be flattered or just downright insulted by that comment-slash-insult, but either way, he thought what his dad said was slightly suspicious. If he was the ticket into getting in, then there was something else that he would have had to do to actually become this "ticket," and the sole thought of the possibilities that entailed that was almost enough to make him faint. "Er, what do you mean by that?" he asked hesitantly, tugging at the blonde locks of his girl scouts wig.

"Well, son," his dad said, blowing into his pipe again. "The ball is going to be at the Buxaplenty's manor—"

And at that, Timmy blanched, turning completely alabaster like a marble statue. Just the mention of that surname brought irrevocably bad memories to his mind immediately, among other things, like feelings of shattered trust, of an insane rivalry connection that chained them together, and of a friendship that could have been. Timmy would never outright admit it, but he had always thought Remy to be one of the coolest guys he's ever met, and after everything the two have been through, he held a small hope in his heart that they would somehow end up being friends eventually. Though, after years of this useless hoping, he figured there was just no use and that their relationship would forever be just hateful rivalry—and, of course, the invitation to the ball was just another one of his schemes to rid Timmy of his fairy godparents, and once again, Timmy would inevitably foil his plans, only deepening their hatred for each other, and…oh, Timmy didn't want to think about him anymore…

"—and it's their kid's birthday. Rudolph Buxaplenty or something." His Dad took yet another blow of his pipe as Timmy both cringed and snickered at the mistake. "They're trying to find a princess for him, so all the girls in Dimmsdale are invited."

And at that, Timmy blanched again. "W-wait a minute. Does that mean I have to…?"

"Dress as a girl?" his mom finished for him, smiling softly. "Well, yes, but you should be used to that by now, right Timmy? Besides, I picked out the cutest dress for you to wear, and I even have this wig for you that matches your natural hair color, and oh! You can definitely borrow your father's make up if you need it…" She precariously held out the aforementioned items to her son, smiling crookedly. Timmy stared at the sparkly dress and the wig for a few moments before sighing and tentatively taking it from his mom's hands.

"When's this ball gonna start?" he asked half-heartedly, readying himself to trudge upstairs.

"In just two hours," his parents chirped together. Then, his mom said softly, "make sure you hurry and spruce yourself up, darling!"

"Yeah, yeah." He paused as if he was about to say something important, but then momentarily forgot about it and started climbing up the stairs. "If you need me, I'll be in my room. I'm using my own makeup."

He heard his parents' okay's and promptly walked into his room, hearing multiple poofs behind him. His fairy godparents looked at his dress and tried to surpass the inevitable snickers as best as they could, but Poof ended up breaking in a matter of seconds, provoking his parents to destroy their own restrictions. Timmy, his cheeks puffed up in anger, shot glares at the fairies and grudgingly sat down, tossing his outfit aside.

"This stinks," he said ruefully, crossing his arms over his chest in a defiant manner.

Wanda, who was the first of the fairy trio to cease from laughing, floated towards Timmy and gave him an amused look. "Aw, what's the matter, sport? It's not like this is the first time you're wearing feminine clothing."

"That's exactly what my _mom _said." He sighed and stared at the dress on the floor, slowly picking it up and dusting it off nonchalantly. "It's not because of that, anyway. I don't really _mind _wearing girly clothes, and"—he shot looks at Cosmo and Poof before they could start roaring into laughter at Timmy's confession—"I'm kind of happy that my parents actually got invited to something for once in their lives. I mean, they were both so happy." He wrinkled his nose, shaking his head solemnly. "At least I'll get to spend some time with them. This is probably one of the only times they're actually letting me tag along to something and I'm taking full advantage of that."

Wanda made a cooing sort of noise, her eyes fluttering. Poof floated into her arms and she caressed him lovingly, and Timmy smiled at the warm and tender moment between mother and son. "That's sweet of you, Timmy, caring about your parents so much."

"Yeah," Cosmo agreed quickly, nodding fervently. "But if you're okay with all this, why're you still frowning?"

Timmy looked at his mirror and indeed, he was still frowning as Cosmo said. He prompted himself a forced smile, but it ended up looking like a slasher smile. "Um, well…. It's at the Buxaplenty's…"

Cosmo and Wanda gasped, Poof raising a lone eyebrow at his parents' bad reactions. "Buxaplenty? Oh, that's horrible Timmy!" Wanda said, completely horrified. Cosmo shivered and gently placed a hand on Wanda's shoulder, a bit of jealousy emanating from his eyes.

"D'ya want us to come along with you, Timmy?" Cosmo asked, raising his wand defensively.

"N-no, that's okay, guys. Really," Timmy said. "I know Juandissimo is probably at Cupid's since he usually is, but he might be at the ball, so I don't wanna take any chances. I don't want _any_ drama between you three." He eyed the older fairies, who smiled sheepishly at him, as he quietly wished that he was "spruced" up. With a wave of three wands, Timmy turned from grungy, dirty boy clad in pink to a genuine-looking young girl wearing a glittery ball gown that swept across the floor and beautiful brown locks that curled gently around his waist. His make-up was even done for him, with coral lipstick applied on his thin lips, mascara and eyeliner and eye shadow accentuating his blue eyes, and a bit of rouge to give some life to his face. He looked at himself in the mirror briefly, awing his abilities of being able to pass as a girl. It was both useful and scary.

Poof giggled at his older brother's look and hugged him, Timmy hugging him back. "Well, I'm gonna be going, guys. I'll see ya later." And with that, Timmy waved goodbye to his godparents and slowly walked downstairs, his blue high heels proving to be a more difficult challenge than he originally thought. He winced at the prospect of having to endure these shoes for the entirety of the ball, but he figured he would get used to it soon.

Once he was finally in the living room, his parents were already rushing him into their car and drove all the few blocks to the giant, castle-like manor, finding that there were cars parked in virtually every place possible. The Turners luckily found an empty parking space and swiftly walked towards the giant white house, marveling at its grandeur.

A bouncer awaited them at the entrance and looked at them intimidatingly, looking at Timmy's shivering figure especially close. "What is the name of your daughter?"

"Tim—" Dad received an inconspicuous kick to the shin via Timmy, and his mom hurriedly blurted out the first thing that came to mind: "Canadia!"

His mom gasped at what she said and slapped her hands on her lips while Timmy face palmed. Dad laughed, scratching the back of his neck when the bouncer looked at the family suspiciously. "Yeah, Canadia! We named our lovely daughter after one of our own states! Patriotic and all that."

Again, Timmy proceeded to slap his forehead, but decided to go along with it and giggled sweetly, making girlish gestures all the while. "I go by Nadine," he said when an epiphany suddenly hit him, glad that the bouncer finally scribbled his name down and let them into the house.

Geez, they weren't even at the ball yet, and it was already _nerve-wrecking_.

But, once the dysfunctional family entered the manor, it felt as if it was all worth it, because everything was just so beautiful, from the extravagant white velvet that laced around the entirety of the manor, everything adorned with intricate designs of gold. It was like the dream house of everyone in Dimmsdale, and possibly even the whole world, and all the Turners could do was gawk.

Then, Mr. and Mrs. Buxaplenty walked up to the three and shook each one of their hands with a single, abrupt shake, greeting his parents and beginning to talk with them using sophisticated, aristocratic language. The only thing Timmy could understand was "you have such a lovely daughter; Remy would surely love to mingle with her," which made Timmy's stomach lurch.

He quietly crept away from his parents as they were too absorbed with socializing and hid behind the refreshments, watching the rest of the people present. It seemed like practically everyone from Dimmsdale was here. Well, those who had a daughter, anyway (er, at least pretended to, in his case, and, much to Timmy's horror, Chester's; the latter's disguise consisted of a handmade, spaghetti-strewn wig and a paper bag dress, and while the wig looked appetizing, it didn't help much in concealing his true gender). He scoffed at Chester and decided to talk some sense into the blond boy, but in the process, he accidentally bumped into someone, causing him to fall over on his butt.

"Oh my gosh, I am so sorry…_Timantha?_" The sugary voice was all too familiar to Timmy: Trixie Tang. He accepted the gloved hand that was offered by the black-haired girl and gazed longingly at her. She was wearing a lavender dress adorned with pearls and white, lacy designs. He wished he could dance with her, the diamond of the party, sure enough, but he knew Trixie wouldn't agree to slow dancing with "Timantha".

"Timantha!" she squealed happily, holding his manicured hands in hers. Timmy felt like he was going to melt at the touch, savoring in the rare contact. "I thought you moved or something! I'm so glad we got to meet up again. Where have you been?"

"I, uh," Timmy stammered, feeling his cheeks become even hotter when Trixie closed the space between them. "Well, my family moved back to…Canada…because of relatives, but then we came back here. Just yesterday."

"Oh," Trixie said softly, a smile slowly forming on her face. "Well, I missed you a lot! We need to keep in contact, girl friend," she gushed as the two quickly exchanged phone numbers. Timmy relished at his good luck. He never would've thought going to the ball would bring him Trixie Tang's phone number, but he definitely wasn't complaining. In fact, all he could do was mumble nonsense as Trixie dragged him towards the dancing area, where Timmy's hopeful heart thought that they would possibly even _dance_. Best night ever!

Er, he spoke too soon, though. Trixie shoved Timmy in front of her, and much to Timmy's horror, he found himself staring straight into the eyes of his arch nemesis, Remy Buxaplenty, clad in his frumpy clothing and a snobby smirk.

"Oh, who is this, Trixie?" he asked, genuinely curious as he inspected Timmy. All Timmy could do was pray that Remy was just like everyone else in Dimmsdale and fall for his disguise.

Trixie smiled and lovingly put her hands on Timmy's shoulders, sending little sparks to rush through his veins. "This is Timantha, my best friend." Timmy smiled at that. If only she knew his real self. "She's amazing!"

"Hm, Timantha, is it?" Remy asked precariously, his eyebrows rising in suspicion. "I don't remember my bodyguard telling me that name."

"Er," Timmy said, trying to think of something to say. "My real name is actually…uh…Canadia, but Timantha is my middle name. Only my real friends call me Timantha."

At that, Trixie, bubbling in euphoria, hugged her best friend, and Timmy would've been jumping in mirth, too, if not for the look Remy was giving him. He couldn't really decipher that look as he'd never exactly seen it before, but it had a foreboding feeling to it, almost like something bad was going to happen, and figuring his usual luck with things, something bad definitely _will _happen.

"Hm. Alright then. It's nice to meet you, _Timantha_," he said in a mocking tone, making Timmy shiver. The rich blond looked at Trixie and gave her a charming smile, making her swoon. "I'm sorry, but would it be alright if Timantha and I had some time…alone?"

"Sure! I'll see you later, Timantha!" she said, squeezing Timmy's hand. Timmy didn't want to let go of her and wanted her to drag her away from the blond—anywhere far away from where he was right now—but Trixie broke contact too soon and Remy seized Timmy's other hand. There was no escape now…

Timmy was dragged into the very middle of the dancers, feeling suffocated at the amount of people that were around them both. The feeling was only made worse when Remy clasped an arm around Timmy's waist, tugging the brunet closer to his chest. Timmy never noticed this before, but he was significantly shorter than Remy was. He guessed he never noticed because the two were always too busy trying to kill each other.

The blond started swaying his hips back and forth in time with the ballad, and Timmy clumsily attempted to mirror his movements. Snickering softly at the failed attempts, Remy took Timmy's free hand into his own gloved one and whisked him away into a surreal twirl, Timmy's movements now matching Remy's. The two were in perfect tandem, very much unlike how they usually were, but Timmy didn't mind that; he was actually enjoying this, how he was so close to Remy without being subject to hurtful jabs at his dignity or backstabbing truths to his heart. It almost felt like the two had a connection other than being "rivals," but the bittersweet truth of it all was that they _were_ rivals and they always will be. Remy didn't even know he was actually the one person who he was constantly trying to torture, and Timmy, too entranced in this poignant dance and wanting so badly to be close to Remy, complied, even when the hurt of this was piling up inside of him. Better that he got a chance to be with Remy for one night than never though, he supposed…

Just as the dance slowed to nothing but a few strums of a heavenly harp, Remy stopped and looked deep into Timmy's eyes, the preceding's green eyes intense with emotion. "Timantha," he whispered softly in her ear, though his tone was as strong and defiant as his pretty eyes and his grip on Timmy and his prolonged stare. "I…"

Timmy's heart was racing by now, anticipation evident in his shaking limbs.

"I love…"

Oh my gosh—Timmy thought over and over again, his mind dizzying.

"…how you're such a bad dancer."

Timmy's heart stopped at that moment and shattered into a million pieces, a blush eating his face up, his face a weird amalgam of embarrassment and anger and disappointment and even more anger. "Wh…_what_?"

"You're a bad dancer," Remy repeated, obviously amused. "You're the most horrific dance partner I've ever had, and believe me, I've had my fair share of bad dancers."

The red in Timmy's cheeks were an even more extreme shade than his own rouge, and all Timmy could think of was how much he wanted to slap that smirk off of his face. Right now. In front of anyone; but a force fettered his want to do something violent to the blond, and he instead opted to splutter out a mess of words that he himself couldn't make out. Remy, looking even more amused than ever, smiled and brushed his lips against Timmy's lipstick-covered ones, making the nonsensical string of words immediately die out.

"Hm, but that's alright, fair lady." His smirk grew wider. "You could convince me wrong of this, though, by showing me a _different_ dance." Remy licked his lips suggestively, leaning close to Timmy's ear and breathing into it. Timmy yelped and weakly pushed the blond away, his head becoming dizzy of the prospect of giving his first kiss—or at least, that's what Timmy thought Remy was suggesting—to…to _him_. It scared him to think that a part of him wanted to set aside all morals and ethics and status quo and all that and just kiss that conniving, snarky, good-for-nothing rich boy right now.

But before Timmy could even think about doing just that, he heard his parents screaming his name ("Canadia! Canadia, dear!") and in an instant, he felt himself ripped away from Remy's warm arms and into his Dad's giant and less warm ones. Then, his parents both started running towards the door as if for dear life, and Timmy blinked back, looking at the blond boy standing all alone in the middle of the dance floor. Timmy felt a small twinge of melancholy as the two locked eyes for the last time; but Timmy, feeling too many emotions for his own good in just a few moments, looked away, not being able to bear looking at the boy.

Remy just stared off at the boy and smiled sadly. "Bye, _Timmy_."

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I was originally going to have Timmy dress up as a girl scout and give Remy cookies, hence the beginning, but...well, I don't know. I guess I was stuck on this ball idea. I'll probably write one about girl scouts later.


	3. Tu

**Tu**

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A groggy brunet suddenly jolted upright upon hearing the seemingly shrill sound of the doorbell penetrating his eardrums. He groaned noisily, wanting nothing more than to continue lying in bed half-asleep, but the annoying rings persisted, provoking him to lazily roll off his bed, put on his fluffy pink slippers, and forcefully and unwillingly drag himself downstairs towards the source of his bane. He stopped in front of the door for a few moments to glare at it, not even reprimanding himself for having such intense resentment for an inanimate object, and begrudgingly opened the door.

Of course, he immediately regretted it when the a bunch of sweet-scented flowers were shoved into his face, practically suffocating him. He swatted the putrid plants away from him and redirected his dagger-like glares toward the beaming blond in front of him.

"Hey, beautiful," Remy said with a wink, either being unaffected by the fact that Timmy looked like he was trampled over by a million horses and a couple dozen sixteen-wheelers, then promptly thrown in front of a squealing hoard of pigs, or he just had a very unfunny sense of humor. Judging from the ghost of a smirk on his face, Timmy opted for the latter, making his hostile stare intensify.

"What do you want?" he mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Je te veux," he said in the most suave tone ever, and even if Timmy had no clue what the boy just said, he couldn't help but feel his heart quicken just subtly enough that his horrid, cranky demeanor washed away into an alert and happy-to-see-his-boyfriend one. Remy, seemingly noticing the change in atmosphere, smiled softly and glided into the room, giving the brunet a peck on the cheek.

"Hm, I'm just here to visit my favorite boyfriend." He earned an eye-roll from Timmy, to which he responded with a short chuckle. "Oh, don't give me that, Turner. It's Valentine's Day, and I—"

"Don't even think about giving me anything," Timmy interrupted suddenly, his face looking stern. "You remember Christmas when you bought me a tank? Yeah…my parents weren't happy with that." Timmy eyed the blond, who looked down at him in obvious disappointment. "They said I wasn't old enough to drive one and grounded me."

"Uh, I promise I won't give you a tank again?" Remy tried to compromise, his crooked smile hopeful, but the indignant look that was given to him made him recoil slightly.

"No, it wasn't just the tank. Remember the yacht? And the exact, to-size replica of the Eiffel Tower in my backyard? Oh, and let's not forget the time you bought me a planet. I was chased down by aliens for weeks because your buying of that planet apparently made me king, and they wouldn't let anyone under eighteen…thousand years to govern them." Timmy sighed when Remy tried to give him the puppy dog look. "I'm sorry. I think you're being thoughtful Remy, but I don't need all this. All these extravagant gifts aren't why I'm with you."

"I just want to make you happy, is all," Remy said offhandedly, grabbing Timmy by the shoulders and looking straight into his bright blue eyes. "Tell me what you want and I'll get it for you, okay? Anything you want, I'm here to get it for you at the wave of a wand."

"Pft, you're not magic, Remy. Money can't buy you everything anyway," Timmy said. "At that, I don't want you spending so much money on me. I'm fine, really. I don't ne—"

"Is the money the problem, then?" Remy mused aloud, directed more to himself than Timmy; and before the latter would even a chance to interject to the idea, Remy's lips curled into a grin that signaled an ingenious epiphany. "Ah, of course! A commoner like yourself is used to cheap presents, huh? I have to start thinking smaller and more like a commoner!"

Remy continued to talk to himself as he walked himself out of Timmy's house. The brunet, dumbfounded by what just happened, decided to shrug of the weird events that had just transpired and trudged back upstairs to crawl back into bed, hoping that whatever Remy was concocting in his little head wouldn't turn into some chaotic event. Of course, considering it was Remy…

Timmy sighed, sitting up. "I should stop him," he said aloud, but the softness of his bed started to lull him back into enticing slumber, making him yawn and fall backwards. "Yeah, I'll stop him after five more…minutes of…sleep…"

**. . . **

A blue eye twitched incessantly as he was showered with cheap, little trinkets, a proud-looking and haughty blond smiling fervently in front of him.

"Well," he started, his green eyes sparkling with glee. "What do you think?"

"I think…I'm gonna suffocate, dude," Timmy mumbled angrily. He pushed his way out of the mountain of video games (of course, the new Crash Nebula video just so-happened to find its way to his hand) and magazines and other miscellaneous paraphernalia that Timmy honestly did like, but not when they're in a jumbled mass of items in the middle of his room, drowning him into a sea of paper cuts and plastic punches. Once he finally forced his way out, he redirected his attention to his boyfriend, who was smiling sheepishly at him.

"Seriously," Timmy deadpanned. "This is getting annoying. _Real_ quick."

Remy looked slightly hurt, his mouth barely mumbling the words, "I just want you to be happy…"

"Well, just _stop_." The acidic tone in his words seemed foreign even to the brunet, but he just couldn't stop the words rolling out of his tongue. "You're being a really annoying jerk right now, you know that, right? I tell you to stop buying me stuff, but you _never_ listen to me. I seriously don't even need all this stuff. If I need something, I can get it through my own means." Timmy looked pointedly at him, stance firm and eyebrows furrowed. "I'm not happy with any of this. This _isn't_ what our relationship is based off of."

"I—" Remy pursed his lips, his mouth shivering as if there were words plummeting against his mouth but he used every muscle necessary to dam those words back. He looked abashed, maybe slightly frustrated and embarrassed, both expressions Timmy had never seen on Remy. The fact that Remy looked so vulnerable and so much like a child was astonishing, and Timmy couldn't help but openly stare at the flustered young man.

But then, the blond coughed, bringing Timmy back to reality. "I…um…" Remy looked to the side. "I guess I'll see you later, Turner…"

Without another word, he left Timmy's room with quickened pace, leaving Timmy with a mess of a room as well as a mess of a heart. When was the last time Remy called him _Turner? _Timmy hadn't heard Remy refer to him as simply his surname since they were fourteen, the start of the flower of their relationship. Five years was an awfully long time to be together with someone, especially at a young age, though they rarely fought…until now.

His chest ached from the guilt that was stabbing against his ribcage. Of course, he didn't agree with Remy sometimes, but Timmy did have to admit he came off just a little bit too harsh. Remy was, after all, just trying to make him happy, and considering he had been in a pretty foul mood all throughout the first half of February, Remy should have reason for concern. Though, were all these gifts really necessary?

_I guess he just doesn't know how to express his love_, Timmy thought solemnly. _His parents always give him everything he wants, and he thinks of that as a way to show affection—the only way to show affection._

Timmy sighed. _And of course, I pretty much rejected him just now, and of all days too._

With another melancholic sigh, the brunet stared at the items littering his floor,  
>but chose to ignore them in favor of thinking of his boyfriend. He then shrugged into his jacket and walked out of his house, running towards the Buxaplenty manor just a few blocks away.<p>

**. . .**

"_No_"—and the giant door was suddenly slammed in Timmy's face, his nose receiving a nasty punch from said door. He rubbed his nose begrudgingly and was about to try talking to the stubborn blond again, but even Timmy knew after twenty-three attempts of talking to Remy and twenty-three looks of disdain and twenty-three blows to the nose that his current method of getting Remy to forgive him wasn't working. Timmy knew buying something for Remy would prove to be useless since he could buy practically _anything_, putting Timmy at a major disadvantage with apologies.

But then, an idea struck him. Handmade things were always a nice gesture and more meaningful than bought things, he remembered Wanda telling him once. Of course, the only problem now was _what_ he should make the blond. Being raised in a high-status lifestyle would mean impressing the blond would be a difficult, maybe even impossible task.

Though, once he remembered a certain aspect of their earlier conversation in the morning, a plan started concocting in his mind, and a grin appeared on his face. _This just has to work_, he thought to himself. _Remy won't be able to resist._

**. . .**

Remy heard the doorbell ring again, and he grunted angrily, both at the annoying noise and the butterflies in his stomach that were anticipating Timmy's presence. He was still made at the brunet, surely, but even then, he yearned to see him. He didn't like being mad at Timmy, but during this circumstance, he felt like he needed to be a little bit more stubborn than usual to teach Timmy a little lesson. Spitefulness and all that.

Putting down his tub of chocolate ice cream, Remy walked up to the door, readying his angry, I'm-going-to-yell-at-you face. Though, he was met with a surprise when he noticed there was a lack of Timmy at his doorstep. Instead, there was a letter on the floor, his name written on the white envelope in sloppy but recognizable text.

Curious, the blond picked it up and ripped the top of the envelope in one clean cut, finding a piece of paper inside with a badly drawn picture of what looked like him and Remy holding hands. Remy scoffed at how absolutely lame it looked, though was surprising a smile at how cute the picture was and promptly started reading the letter.

A few seconds thereafter, a small hint of curved lips appeared on his face as he hugged the letter gently in his fingers. "Hm, as eloquent as always. Heh…wait, _my ferret!_"

_Crimson Chin is red_

_Crash Nebula is (partly) blue_

_I don't know French_

_But Remy… 'je te veux' too_

_(Now please forgive me because I can't think of another rhyme for this, but do know that I looked your French up and I really mean it when I said it. You know, I even learned my own French through research. So…j'adore, Remy. J'adore beaucoup. Toujours et pour toujours.)_

_Love, Timmy_

_P.S. I lied about the tank. I was riding it and accidentally ran over your ferret and felt guilty so I gave it to the Dinkelburgs. Sorry._

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A silly little Valentine's Day fic that's quite fast-paced, but still pretty cute. I have another idea for a Valentine's Day fic for this pairing that's much better than this, and it also involves a secret side pairing alongside the Remy/Timmy.


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